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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28591803">President vs the Exiled | Two brothers fighting</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/'>Anonymous</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Dream SMP stories [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Bees, Dead Toby Smith | Tubbo, Exiled TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Fighting, Flowers, Ghost Toby Smith | Tubbo, January 6th, President Toby Smith | Tubbo, Toby Smith | Tubbo Angst, Toby Smith | Tubbo Needs a Hug, TommyInnit Needs a Hug (Video Blogging RPF)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 06:40:25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,030</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28591803</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>"This discs are worth more than you ever were!"</p><p>What would have happened at the community house if Tubbo and Tommy kept fighting....<br/>_______________</p><p>Contains mild depictions of violence</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Tubbo &amp; Tommyinnit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Dream SMP stories [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2095047</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>253</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Anonymous</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>President vs the Exiled | Two brothers fighting</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Covered in armour and standing atop the broken walls of the community house, was everyone from the entire server.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Except for two.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Walls of flowing water encasing them in their own battlefield while everyone else watched from above. Standing on a small platform, facing each other with weapons drawn were the teenagers. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>One, exiled from his home and forced to live alone until an anarchist took him in and asked him to help destroy what was once his home.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The other, a President forced into the job at too young an age, having to run an entire country with a cabinet that didn't respect him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It had only started as screaming, a yelling match between two teenagers who were holding enough pent up rage to fuel a forest fire ten times over.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The exiled was the one who drew the first blood, swinging at his friend in a burst of anger and clipping the side of the other boy's arm. The president's cabinet, as well as every other onlooker, stayed atop the walls. A mutual understanding between all factions for the first time since the wars started.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>This wasn't their battle.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The older boy looked shocked, once he noticed the blood starting to bloom on the sleeve of his suit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A small glimmer of regret flickering in the youngest eyes, quickly vanished as he pulled up his shield to block the incoming sword.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The argument continued, no longer in the form of yelling, instead they fought with weapons. Scraping each other, passing back small cuts and bruises.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The edge of a sword catching the exiled’s ear.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>An axe tearing through the fabric of the president's jacket, all but ripping it from the teenager’s body.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Another sword slash</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A bruised shoulder from a shield.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They continued on, the differing levels of armour doing nothing to stop either party from holding back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The onlookers continued to do nothing, content in letting the two of them fight until they broke.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Blocking another blow, the axe was grabbed out of the exiled's hand and thrown to the ground. The sword the president had been using followed quickly after.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Shields broken and without weapons, it quickly became a fistfight. The president dodging and weaving while they both continued their argument, loud voices echoing off of the water.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Blocking a punch, the exiled pulled the president closer to him. Whispering into the other boys ear harshly about music discs being worth more than the other boy had ever been.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Quickly shoving him to the ground, too lost in rage to see the others shocked face or start to realise just what he had said. He reached down and picked up the sword that was lying at his feet.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And, forgetting the blindness in his friend's left eye (thanks to the anarchists strike at the last festival), struck a blow the president would never be able to block.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bringing the sword in from his right, the sword cut deep into his friends left side.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Oh." A faint mutter was the only sound, the onlookers becoming silent in shock.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The raging silence was quickly overshadowed by the loud realisation of what had just happened. Body freezing, the exiled looked down at where his friend laid.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Falling to the ground next to his friend, applying pressure across the large wound, adrenaline starting to fade, he held onto what little hope he had that his friend would be ok.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Pulling off his friend's tie, made out of a red bandana that matched his own green one, he wrapped it around the wound, trying desperately to save his friend.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I'm sorry, Tubbo I'm so sorry, I didn't mean it." Using his free hand, he tilted his friends head to face him. Apologising over and over again and receiving a weak smile in return.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The onlookers, seemingly not having been paying close enough attention, started to make their way down towards the pair, expecting to find both boys having sorted out their differences.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Stepping through the watery blockade, all of them were shocked to find the two of them still lying on the floor. The older was being held, almost limp, in the other's arms while blood trickled into the wooden floor. The sounds of apologies flowing through the air as tears bled freely, cascading down both of the young boy’s faces.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>_______________</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It would take three days for the funeral to be held, all disputes put on hold until further notice as they all mourned losing one of their youngest.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The grave had ended up hidden in a flower forest and protected in all directions by a dense forest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bees fluttered between the rainbow of colours and dodged the people that were making their way towards the small stone.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Words inscribed atop the greying stone being read out as the ceremony started.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A young boy in a red and white shirt, sitting on a bench, built for three but crafted for two, ignored the words as more and more people took turns saying their pieces. Retellings of old stories and heartfelt compliments flowed through one ear and out the other as the young boy stared into nothing, eyes subconsciously following a small bee flying nearby.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Looking up only as the setting sun let an orange glow flow between the flowers, he realised that he was on his own. Everyone else had left hours before meant that it had been just him, his thoughts and the bees for far longer than he appreciated.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Finally standing, he made his way over to his friend's grave. Fiddle with the two bandanas tied around his arm, he sat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Facing the cold grave he found it scarily easy to imagine his friend sitting on top of the stone, glancing down at him with a questioning gaze as the other boy started planting a small handful of seeds around the freshly placed dirt.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Pulling his knees against his chest, back using the side of the grave as support. Yes closed, he whispered a message into the breeze, praying that his brother would hear him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I'm so sorry Tubbo."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A ghost of a hand rested on his shoulder as a bee landed on his nose.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"I know Tommy."</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>The <a href="https://smp-boundaries.tumblr.com/">BLOG</a> that contains the smp members boundaries in regards to things such as fanfic, cosplays, etc...</p></blockquote></div></div>
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